


The Little Things

by WindwiseWords



Series: Xenogen City [46]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Chronicle of Events, Crying, Hugs, Lazy tags, Pet, Sad, Sad Ending, Vent Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindwiseWords/pseuds/WindwiseWords
Summary: Prowl's short and yet long time with a beloved companion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is partly my chronicle of my life with my dear cat. She made it to 12 years of age and contracted bladder cancer, kidney disease, and most likely the tumor metastasized into her peritoneal tissues. I loved that cat like no other, and I had no other way to cope. I apologize if Prowl is a little OOC but I think he'd love a little cat. Sorry for the angsty vent-writing guys I just didn't know how else to deal with this...
> 
> Dedicated to my beloved cat: May 5th, 2004- December 28, 2016.  
> May she rest in peace in that big ol' closet in the sky.

It wasn’t as if he wanted some little stray out of the vet clinic. Sure he wanted a cat for a present but more of the purebred type, something fancy from a breeder. Maybe a pure orange tabby, or a handsome Russian blue. But in the end he couldn’t say no to the little feline, a black and white American shorthair that climbed up onto his knee and purred her heart out.

And that was how Prowl obtained his cat, a pet everyone assumed he’d love. He assumed that too, but the kitten days left him sleepless and often asking Bluestreak to take the kitten for a bit. But even after she shredded his documents, broke two datapads, nearly killed herself jumping off the tables (never would he understood how cats always landed on their feet!) and chewed through important wires, Prowl wouldn’t have given those days up for anything.

Through the years he grew to love her antics. She loved to chew on his feet, even though she broke two teeth in the process. Sometimes she’d play with a loose wire on his side, tugging it and making him nearly cry with the sting but he just let her.

A joy to have her around.

When Bluestreak finally decided he could handle himself and got his own room, the cat stayed with Prowl. At first he worried he’d roll and crush her in his sleep, but the feline moved about often and seemed to love to race around at three in the morning, playing with bells and bolts and whatever Prowl managed to not clean up that day. He’d just get up and read his datapads until she jumped back into his berth, and the two would sleep.

The years went by and she wasn’t any young cat anymore. She slept more than she did anything else besides eat; a chubby kitty, but Prowl could never say no to that mewling for food. Or begging for her favorite treats. But one day she asked for nothing, ate very little. Prowl knew something was wrong and called her vet.

A long drive, but she loved to sit up front in his seats. She learned quickly that hiding under them never hid her away; he’d transform to have her in his hand and she’s narrow her eyes in annoyance. This time she didn’t try to hide, but lay contently on his seat as he warmed it for her. There was a lack of glow in those eyes; something was wrong.

The vet grew used to his largest client, and often had a vet tech run in and out to tell him the news. This time the vet came out and Prowl’s spark dropped. The vet put his pet back into the passenger’s seat, and patted the door. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing more we can do.”

 

Two weeks of the Pit. The diagnosis played over and over in his mind: bladder cancer with kidney disease. He researched it fully, knowing he’d find there wasn’t anything they could do. He cursed Primus, cursed every god he knew. Once he screamed at Bluestreak, the pair having their worst fight in ages until they realized it was spooking the cat.

She leaked on everything. Prowl spent more and more free time looking for her to wash her up (something she hated) and clean up her mess (something Prowl hated.) She barely ate, didn’t use the litter box, and only seemed to drink a few sips before giving up. At least she stopped throwing up.

“You’ll know when it’s time.” The vet said, and Prowl found himself holding his cat for the last time. He’d fought wars, seen so many friends perish, lost countless years to violence and rarely if ever cried. Here he was, bawling like a sparkling, trying to spend just thirty more seconds with his long-time friend.

They put her in a carrier; she hated that, meowed and struggled, but then so fast she was gone. Prowl couldn’t bear to see her dead; he continued to silently cry for nearly an hour after the appointment had come and gone, locked in Bluestreak’s and Jazz’s arms.

Eventually, abruptly he got up and went about cleaning, putting away or throwing out her things. He couldn’t look at them, couldn’t deal with the strain of thinking about the last two weeks. He smiled, thinking back to better times. All the little things that made his life have that much more pleasure because he came home to a purring friendly little animal that wanted nothing more than to spend the evening at his side, dozing comfortably while he watched TV.

When all was gone, he settled down in his room. He sat on the berth, turned the TV on, and simply silently leaked tears until he sunk into a quiet acceptance. Prowl needed to put it behind him, needed to move on with the good memories of his dear little cat.

When Jazz went in to check on him later, Prowl had fell asleep, hand at his side curled around where the little cat would sleep.


End file.
